My mind has grown another Id.
Beyond this bed it lies.
An Ibsen world has made its bid,
Two worlds that live and thrive.
Escape from pain that stung my brain
That guide a nowhere course
It either that or go insane
To stop and end remorse.
Yet torment creeps a shadow back,
In wait of trip or fall.
Satanic dogs harass my track,
It's touch the death of all.
I live a sort of interlude,
No walls confine my sight.
A fantasy of latitude,
A world of things that's right.
And though we twin in soul report
It has one death, forever more.